


The Heat Wave Catalyzer

by Muir_Wolf



Category: Big Bang Theory
Genre: F/M, Hurt/Comfort
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-02-11
Updated: 2011-02-11
Packaged: 2017-10-15 14:22:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,696
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/161693
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Muir_Wolf/pseuds/Muir_Wolf
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>On the hottest day of the year, Sheldon gets heat exhaustion and Penny takes care of him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Heat Wave Catalyzer

**Author's Note:**

> This was a help_haiti fic for the lovely dashakay.

The windows are wide open, but the air outside is still, the heat beating down into the pavement and suffocating the city. Penny shifts restlessly on her couch, hair slipping free from her ponytail to lie against slick skin. She pulls the damp tank-top away from herself, letting her head tip backwards against the couch, and moans.

Six days into the worst heat wave the city had felt in years and their building’s air conditioning had died. The super had promised it would be up within the next several days, but then again the elevator had been out-of-order for years, and Penny’s not sure she can take another second.

The television is doing nothing to distract her or alleviate her discomfort. It’s doing worse than nothing, in fact, the repetitive mumble of voices is giving her a dash of ADD –she flips through the channels restlessly, and even when she finds something decent she only manages to watch for a couple of minutes before losing interest entirely.

Eventually, she stands up, figuring Sheldon, at least, will think of something to keep her occupied. Leonard, she knows, it out of town for the weekend with Leslie, but Sheldon—

Well, it’s not like she and Sheldon haven’t been spending a lot of time together. A lot a lot. _Of course, it helps that he can make her laugh and piss her off simultaneously, and that she never gets bored with him._

She gives herself a quick check in the mirror, grimacing as she sees her hair, and takes the time to run a comb through it, not letting herself consider the implications of wanting to look nice.

She always wants to look nice.

 _Just like she always half-lies on top of egotistical scientists who suffer through watching rom-coms for her sake._

She pauses outside the apartment and gives the door a quick double knock before impatiently trying the handle— _open._

Sheldon is standing in front of his whiteboard in _pants._ Pants and his usual two-layer shirts, a dry erase marker hanging loosely in his hand.

He doesn’t turn to face her.

“Sheldon?” she calls, and still he doesn’t turn to face her, and something is decidedly… _not right._ “Sheldon, I’m just gonna…”

She trails off as she lays a hand on his arm and he turns sluggishly towards her, cheeks flushed, eyes bright.

“Penny?” he asks, confused, and worrying her lip between her bottom teeth she reaches up and lays the back of her hand on his forhead. He frowns at her but doesn’t try to stop her, which is bad enough, but his brow is warm—more than warm.

“Oh my god, honey, you’re burning up!” Penny exclaims, and he’s still frowning down at her.

“Penny,” he drawls, long syllables dragging on as he looks at her, “Where’d you come from? I’m trying to work.”

She glances distractedly at the whiteboard behind her and sees it’s covered in numbers and equations. On the table behind them are scattered pages and an opened container of juice is on the kitchen counter.

“How long have you been working?” she asks, and he blinks languidly.

“Penny, I have to figure this out,” he says. “I’m so close.”

She rolls her eyes and grabs his arm, but when she gives him a tug he half-stumbles. “Honey, come here and sit down before you fall down,” she orders, leading him over to the couch and half-pushing him down in his spot.

He tilts his head as he looks up at her. “Penny?”

She shakes her head as she looks at him— _“Idiotic scientist who can’t take care of himself,”_ she mutters, thinking rather dark thoughts about Leonard for leaving him unchaperoned. She briefly contemplates taking him to the hospital, but for now…

“Take your shirt off,” she orders. He stares at him, and she rolls her eyes, grabbing his arms and holding them over his head and then dragging his shirts off.

The action clearly takes him by surprise, and when he says “Penny,” he seems much more himself, but she ignores him, tossing the shirts behind her and then going over to the kitchen and pouring a glass of water.

“Drink this,” she orders, “I’ll be right back.”

The boys, she knows, won’t have Gatorade, but she does.

When she comes back into the apartment Sheldon is standing, arms crossed in front of his chest protectively, holding the now-empty glass of water.

“Penny, where’s my shirt?” he asks, and she shakes her head, handing him another glass.

“Drink this,” she says.

“I feel a little dizzy,” he says, staring at the glass, and she puts her hands around his.

“Drink,” she says, softer. “It’ll help.”

 

  
**./.**   


 

She glares at the thermometer and then at Sheldon, who twice now she’s had to threaten to sit on.

 _(”Penny, I just need to—”_

 _“I will burn your papers, Sheldon. I will throw your whiteboard out your window—again.”)_

“Sheldon, come here honey,” she says, and he stands up.

“Penny, I just—” he says, and she shakes her head.

“Later,” she promises, and then grabs his hand and practically drags him into the bathroom.

 _(Yes, she just grabbed his hand. No, he did not freak out.)_

“Do you have anything in your pockets?” she asks, and he blinks heavy eyelids and hands her his phone and his wallet almost numbly. She takes them and sits them on the bathroom counter, and then backs him into the shower, still in his pants.

The shock of the cold water on his bare skin, and his eyes flare open, bright blue in the overly yellow lights of the bathroom. He mutters something underneath his breath, and with anyone else she’d think she’d heard cursing, but since it’s Sheldon it’s probably some expression no one outside of Texas has heard.

…hell, no one _inside_ of Texas has heard.

The spray catches her, too, but she shoves him back into the icy water with a determined look as his hair gets completely soaked and water starts dripping down his face.

“Penny, it’s cold,” he says, and she softens a little.

“I know, honey,” she says, “We’ve just got to stand here for a bit, I need to get your temperature down a bit, okay? You’re still over a hundred degrees.”

“Penny,” he huffs, “I am barely over one hundred and one, and I have important—”

“Stay,” she orders, glaring, and he falls silent. She lets her mind wander, and after a couple of minutes she’s let herself become mesmerized by the falling water.

She watches one droplet as it trips on his eyelashes and then catches on his full bottom lip, and she only blinks when she realizes she’s staring at him.

“Penny,” he says, and his voice is unexpected, a note she doesn’t recognize, and there’s something in his eyes that’s incredibly familiar but she can’t quite place where she knows it from.

His eyes skim down her body, and she’s suddenly quite aware of the fact that she’s wearing a white tank-top over a tan bra, and that it’s now completely molded to her body. She drags out an, “ _Oh,_ ” at about the same time he steps forward and his large hand lands on her left hip. When she looks up his chest is directly in front of her—solid and flesh and blood and water beading on dark hair—and without even thinking about it she puts a hand on his side.

He tenses under her touch, but he doesn’t back away.

“Penny,” he says (breaths—asks— _gasps_ )

She starts to open her mouth— _and say what?_ —and then his hand tightens against her skin and he’s leaning down and his mouth is on hers and he’s kissing her—

Mouth pressing against her mouth—

Thumb sliding just underneath her shirt to rub against her skin—

Lips and lips and his skin is warm under her but the water is cold around them and

 _so good_

The sound of the water in her ears along with the little sound he makes when she opens her mouth and—

 _Wait_ , she thinks, _wait wait._

It takes more willpower then she thinks she had, but she pulls back.

“Wait,” she says, “Wait, Sheldon, you’re not feeling well, you’re not yourself, you—”

“I’m feeling better,” he says, his mouth still just centimeters from hers, so she can feel his breath on her lips, feel—

She steps backwards.

Reaches out a hand, fumbling, grabs a towel, wraps it around her waist—her movements jerky and hurried, feeling his eyes on her—

She steps out of the tub.

“I should change,” she says.

“I’ll change and then I’ll come back,” she says.

The floor underneath her feet is getting wet. Tendrils of damp hair cling to the side of her face, and she brushes them away irritably. Her eyes flick over the half-open shower curtain and stutter when they reach him, water dripping down his face, _down his chest, down—_

“Say something,” she says (begs).

His hand flutters near his waist, debating to reach out. He shifts his weight from one leg to the other, pants clinging to his body. She can practically see the cogs in his brain spinning around, and blindly she fumbles for the doorknob behind her, because she’s not sure she can take whatever he—

“We could watch a movie,” he says. “How long will you be?”

Her hand is frozen on the doorknob as she looks at him, at the way he isn’t completely freaking out, at the way his eyes are clear, the overheated look fallen away from his face.

“I thought—it’s good you want to rest, but I thought you were working?”

His eyes hover over her face. “I should rest,” he agrees. “It can wait.”

 _Oh,_ she thinks. _Oh._

“Fifteen minutes?” she offers, and he nods, and then inclines his head towards the remaining towel (the other she knocked to the ground in her haste), and she hands it to him.

 

  
**./.**   


 

Her hands are shaking when she enters her bedroom, and completely bypassing her closet she sits down on the edge of her bed, resting her head on her knees.

What the hell. What. The. Hell. _Whatthehell._

Sure, there’d been the flirting and the constant hanging out and the way she’d go over and see him all the time and the way he let her sprawl all over the couch and sometimes even him but—

But—

And he wasn’t feeling well.

 _Way to go, Penny,_ she thinks bitterly. _He’s going to hate you for this._ You _should hate you for this._

Except she knows why her hands are shaking, and it’s not out of hatred. It has to do with blue eyes in close proximity, with the spread of fingers along her waist—

She stands up, irritated with herself, and flings open her closet.

 

  
**./.**   


 

Thirty minutes later—

(and where was Sheldon? Why wasn’t he banging on her door at fifteen minutes and fifty-nine seconds?)

—Penny knocks on the door. Sheldon opens it, dressed in a white cotton shirt and a pair of dark shorts.

“Only one layer?” she says, completely floored by the amount of arm she can see.

He shrugs. “It seemed best,” he says, and his voice still has that extra drawl, his eyes still a little too bright.

“I brought more Gatorade,” she says. “Go sit down.”

He does, and she pours him a glass of Gatorade and herself some soda. The disc for _Galaxy Quest_ is already in (a mutual favorite), and she sits down next to him. He pushes play without commentary, and she’s more than relieved.

 _Talking can clearly only make matters worse._

Halfway through the movie, she glances over and his head is on the armrest. He’s quite obviously asleep, which isn’t surprising.

It’s only four in the afternoon, but she keeps watching, and if her fingers find his, no one is there to notice.

 

  
**./.**   


 

He wakes up three-quarters of the way through the new _Sherlock Holmes_ movie, and watches it silently with her. When it's over, he switches back to the television, and they both face the general direction of the screen but neither are watching anymore.

“It’s so hot,” she says, her voice pitching up into a whine, and he shifts on the couch before standing up, an appraising look on his face. “Sheldon?”

“One moment, Penny,” he says, and then walks into the kitchen, leaving her half-sprawled and miserable on the couch.

When he comes back, he’s carrying a cup full of ice cubes, but when she reaches eagerly for one he pulls it back with a frown. “Penny, _manners,_ ” he reprimands, and she glares at him, pulling her arm back and crossing it firmly with its twin across her stomach.

He doesn’t appear to notice her performance as he sits back down in his spot.

“Close your eyes,” he orders, and she sends him one last suspicious look before letting them ease shut. Something cold—cold _and amazing_ —brushes against her neck, first on her left side and then her right. He runs the ice cube down along the inside of her arms, rubbing it in circles on the inside of her wrists.

“These pressure points,” he says, his voice low as he watches her face, “These areas are where your veins are close to your skin.”

She opens her eyes and looks at him. “You’re pretty good at fixing things, aren’t you?” she asks, and he takes out another ice cube and draws it along her lips.

“Open,” he orders, and when she does he slips it into her mouth, letting it melt on top of her tongue.

“You’ve shown a more than adequate ability as well,” he says, taking a third ice cube and running it underneath his ears. “Missy and I used to do this in Texas when it became too warm,” he says, voice still low, and Penny shrugs back up into a more reasonable sitting posture, sliding the ice cube to the side of her mouth.

“You’re just full of surprises, aren’t you?”

He pauses, almost jerkily, and then ducks his head slightly. “I should apologize,” he says, and she winces, because she does _not want to have this conversation—_

“Sheldon—” she says.

“You were trying to help me and I perhaps misinterpreted your intentions, and—”

"I didn't mind-"

“If I expect others to admit their faults, I must hold myself to those same standards, Penny,” he says, setting the cup of ice cubes down on the table and intertwining his hands. “I apologize for causing such a breach in our friendship. I shouldn’t have kissed you,” he says, eyes still fixed on the television, and she turns, drawing her legs up underneath her.

“Sheldon, that’s not why I stopped I just…” she stumbles over her words, unsure of how to say what she wants to say, but he’s looking at her now, all questioning attentiveness, so she exhales noisily and scratches a hand in her hair.

“I didn’t…I didn’t want to take advantage of you,” she says, quite pointedly not looking at him.

She still hears him scoff, however.

“A _homo novus_ is not taken advantage of, Penny,” he says, “And as you may recall, I did initiate it.”

 _Initiate it,_ she thinks. _Sheldon Cooper, making a move._ The thought should make her laugh, but instead…

“You weren’t feeling well!” she says (defends), and suddenly his hand is on her chin, tilting her face up to meet his.

“I’m feeling well now, Penny,” he says, voice almost husky.

She closes her eyes as he draws closer, his mouth pressing against hers, his lips parting to mouth along the edges of her lips. Her hand wanders up to rest against the soft cotton of his shirt as his thumb slides along her jaw.

 _Oh,_ she thinks, feeling the way her skin thrums when it comes into contact with his. _Oh._

He pulls back, his eyes tracing the features of her face.

“Should I not have done that?” he asks, and she smirks.

“If you mean stop, then yes, you _definitely_ shouldn’t have stopped,” she says, and then slides an ice cube into her mouth and kisses him again.

 

  
_…Finis…_   


**Author's Note:**

> Note: Sheldon has a mild form of heat _exhaustion_ , and Penny treated him accordingly. If at any time a person’s temperature is over 104 or they lose consciousness, they should be taken to a hospital immediately. Heat stroke (heat exhaustion’s much worse big brother) is a serious condition and 911 should be called. When in doubt, always seek medical attention.


End file.
